


Walk With Me

by Scriptophilia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Christmas, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Holidays, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Presents, Sad Draco Malfoy, Snow, Summer, Tags May Change, Walking, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptophilia/pseuds/Scriptophilia
Summary: Harry had worked with Draco many times before. He was the only person the professors seemed to pair him with, really. They even had a sliver of what any normal person would deem a "friendship." They had started on the wrong foot before the war, and Harry was not really in the mood to make amends. They're in their eighth year now, and (mostly) alone. Each regards the other as a thought, always in the mind and never leaving. Harry had originally planned to ignore the blond Slytherin, but it became increasingly harder without Ron and Hermione, as they had each other now. Then, it became impossible altogether when Draco came begging for Harry to take a walk with him.





	1. More Alone Than Usual

    Harry had learned that the Dursleys would never contact him. He knew that they would never even bother to learn how to owl, considering how they felt about Hedwig. Even so, he could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, his family would reach out to him. Despite his distaste for them, he desperately wanted somewhere to go. He felt like even more of an outsider with his friends away seeing their families. He tugged at the too-short sleeves of his scarlet, H-emblazoned sweater. The selfish part of him wanted to go to the Burrow, to have Mrs. Weasley make him another sweater. The reasonable part of him knew they were grieving.

    So now he sat, near the end of Gryffindor table. He was alone in the refurbished Great Hall, and the half empty mug of cider his frigid fingers were wrapped around was gradually losing its warmth. If he had any friends before the war, they’d be distant now. The only people at the long, oaken table were a group of boisterous, burly first year boys and a gaggle of third year girls, shrieking with laughter. There was nobody here anymore, it seemed. At least, around half of Harry's year had opted out of the eighth year. He only lingered because the thought of facing the world alone terrified him. Harry was already considering finding a way to get to Grimmauld Place. There was nothing there for him now, but he wanted to be anywhere but here. He had just made up his mind to leave when he was yanked form his runaway train of thought by an unmistakable voice. Cold, sharp, curt, and with a built-in sneer.

    "Still alone for the holidays, are we, Potter?" The worn wool of Harry's sweater had suddenly become infuriatingly hot, and he could feel beads of sweat trickle down the back of his neck like wax dripped from the floating candles above his head. Much to his chagrin, he flushed redder than the Gryffindor banners on the walls. He turned his head quicker than Malfoy could lose the snitch to try and hide his blush.

    "Shove off, Malfoy." Harry stared down at the lacquered table, avoiding Malfoy's piercing gaze. His response, or lack thereof, was met with a tut from Draco.

    "That's no way to greet someone this close to Christmas, now, is it?" Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away, picking up a discarded issue of the Daily Prophet. Christmas was indeed a little over a week away, but he was not in the mood to converse with anyone, let alone Draco Malfoy. Reluctantly, as he knew the blond behind him would not leave until he was acknowledged, Harry turned to lock eyes with Malfoy. _Needy brat_ , Harry thought. To his dismay, Draco had taken a seat next to him, his chin resting in his black-gloved hand.

    "What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, becoming irritated faster than McGonagall could spot a spell-check quill. 

    "Oh, nothing, really. I can't be bothered to converse with them." He paused to gesture to the less-than-desirable remaining Slytherin students, shooting them a glare. "The younger members of my noble house are astoundingly boring. They just don't understand that they could be so much more than the simpering weasels they are." He spoke with such distaste that Harry found himself scooting a bit further away on the bench.

    "So," Draco continued. "I came to insult you instead."

    Harry cocked his head, squinting his vibrant green eyes in utter confusion. Where had there been an insult?

    "You haven't- I mean, not that I kn-" He was stopped abruptly when Draco barked a single, snide laugh.

    "Well, Potter, if you've looked in a mirror lately, you'll see I don't have to." He stood up with a rather overdramatic flourish of his robes. He snatched a ripe, green apple from a basket on the table and tossed it up and down on his way out.

    This was not the first time Harry had been frustrated with this particular Slytherin, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He had become used to Draco approaching him for the sole purpose of stepping on what little was left of his self esteem. Harry set the Prophet down with a slap and headed for Gryffindor Tower in hopes of curling up on one of the sofas to take a nap and ease his turbulent mind. He muttered the password to the Fat Lady, something about mince pie and pixies. 

The portrait swung aside, and Harry was greeted with the familiar, home-like atmosphere. A roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, every shade of red, yellow, and orange dancing on the brick. Sweet wrappers, along with a few from puking pastilles, littered the floor and plush sofas. Harry stared wistfully into the fire, clinging desperately to a sliver of hope that Sirius would appear and give him advice with dealing with a certain ferret-faced arse. 

"Harry," he'd say, a calm and sincere voice. "Hex him. I mean it. It works every time." Harry smiled to himself at the thought of fatherly advice from his Godfather. He climbed up the stairs and flopped down on his bed, grabbing for a book he hadn't started that Hermione had given him weeks ago. His attention was shifted, however, when a clump of ice hit his window with a resounding _smack_.

    Harry blinked in confusion before slowly pushing himself up to see what had launched the frozen projectile. To his surprise, it had been none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry wrestled the window open just as Draco sent up another chunk of snow with a flick of his wand. The icy shrapnel hit its mark, nearly knocking Harry's glasses to meet their unfortunate end far, far below.

"Oi, Potter!" Draco yelled.

"Bugger off."

"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"I can tell." He moved to shut the window, until Draco spoke again. Or rather, shouted. 

"Come down here." Harry shivered, but blamed it on the draft. "I'm not waiting all day. It will be this time tomorrow if you don't get a move on." Harry rolled his eyes, but found himself nodding his head anyway. Whatever insult Malfoy had to hurl at him had to be better than some stuffy old book about house elf rights, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure how long this will last, and I'm also not entirely sure how long it will be between chapters. I hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Knee Deep in Snow and Conflicting Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated! My chapter draft kept getting deleted.

The Slytherin mascot was a snake for a reason. Harry had been swindled into something like this before, and had been adamant to never fall victim to it again. He supposed it was too late now. Once Harry had already wrapped his Gryffindor scarf around his neck, what he had agreed to fully registered in his mind. So much for a peaceful afternoon. He hated that his heart skipped a beat when he thought about exactly who he'd be with when he reached the lake.

Snow was falling on Hogwarts again, covering the grounds in a thick, white blanket. Fat, feather-soft flakes found a home in Harry's jet black hair as he made his way over to the lake, where he'd last seen Draco standing. There was added whimsy to the school when it snowed, if one could ignore the fact that it was a castle built by and for wizards. Even the whomping willow had a sort of odd beauty, with its glittering cloak of icicles. Draco seemed to notice Harry, and began trudging through the snow towards him. He was so pale that Harry wouldn't have been able to see him, had it not been for his holly green robes, contrasting greatly with the dazzling white snow.

 

    The pair met in the middle, and up close, Harry could see through Draco's snooty, aristocratic exterior. Draco had grown thin and gaunt, and Harry felt that if he were to reach out and touch him, he would be so brittle that he would disintegrate in the breeze. The only sign of color was a bit of red on the tip of his nose from the cold.

 

    "Walk with me, Potter." Harry was taken aback, because why would Draco of all people be asking him to take a leisurely stroll? "Don't just stand there gaping, Potter. I said walk with me." He turned on his heel, the best he could in the growing amount of snow, and took long strides away from Harry, who scrambled to catch up.

 

   "Why?" Harry asked, not entirely expecting a straightforward answer.

 

    "Because, Potter, I believe we have more in common than you think. And I- I'm rather lonely." He said the second part so quietly Harry had to strain his ears to hear him. Shaking his head, he looked down at his dragon hide boots. For a moment, just a moment, Harry felt sorry for the other boy. Shortly after, he spoke before he could stop himself.

 

    "Well we could talk some more, y'know, if you want. I know how you feel." Harry would never like to admit it, but he meant what he was saying. He knew exactly what it felt like to be unwanted. Shunned, even. Whenever he went out, he was always swarmed by reporters, or avoided like dragon pox. Sure, he defeated Voldemort, but at what cost?

 

    Draco was silent for a moment. He was pensive, probably thinking about what insult he would sling at Harry next. Instead, they were words of thanks.

 

    "Thank you, Potter. So," he cleared his throat. "What'd you think about the Quidditch game? The Cannons and the Harpies?" It was a desperate attempt at a conversation change, but Harry didn't mind. He knew the tactic. He'd used it many times before. Draco had changed now. He was more vulnerable, maybe even meek. Harry respected that, because once again. He knew just how he was feeling. 

\---

    The walk ended once they had finished their circle around the castle, and Harry was frozen to the bone. He sighed once he reached the common room and sat on the floor in front of the roaring fire, flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing again. He took this time to mull over what he'd just done.

 

    It was awkward, no doubt. Forced laughter and conversation that wasn't quite smooth was not Harry's cup of tea. Even so, it felt good to see Draco's pallid cheeks gain a bit more color, even if it was just from the blustering wind outside. He was glad to be inside now, as the snow had turned to rain and beat mercilessly against the windows, rattling the glass. It would be dinner time soon, and Harry thought he might go down later. He'd certainly had his fill of Draco Malfoy for the day, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length. Once I figure out a schedule to post on, they'll get longer.


	3. Night Walks and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been like two months. I'm so sorry. I've had a lot going on. Also, I swear this has a plot. I'm going to try and get the next chapter up ASAP to make up for my lack of posting.

    Night was closing in, and the sun gave way to the star freckled sky. Normally Harry would be asleep, but his brain decided that he'd be wide awake at unholy hours of the morning. Not only was he not tired in the slightest, but he was also antsy and wanted to move. Soon, he found himself wandering the winding halls, and stopped in front of the Room of Requirement after the door had caught his eye. His hand had already turned the handle when he paused, remembering the pain, joy, and botched romantic encounters he'd experienced on the Come and Go room. He didn't think about why it had appeared when he swung the door open.

 

    He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, perhaps it would be something that had to do with his parents or friends. Instead, there sat a large, overstuffed armchair in the center of the room, accompanied by a variety of plush blankets. The room was dimly lit, with flickering shadows darting here and there off of the stone walls from softly glowing orbs that floated about. The chair faced a floor-to-ceiling window as wide as Hagrid was tall. Here, he stood overlooking the moonlight dancing off of the ink black lake, nestled between the looming mountains. The stars twinkled in the vast expanse of the midnight sky. Perhaps, Harry thought, he just wanted an escape.

 

    But still, nightmares plagued him, even in his waking hours. Here he sat, swathed in blankets, gazing out in the endless sky, remembering. He remembering his first, albeit wet, kiss with Cho after a DA meeting. He remembered finding the Half Blood Prince's book, and stashing it away again so nobody could steal it, only to have a kiss stolen from him by Ginny. But then, after the golden memories faded, he remembered the Fiendfyre, and breathing in smoke and ash as the room burned around him, his ears filled with anguished sobs from Malfoy, who was gutted by the loss of his friend and clinging to Harry like a small child.

 

    Harry curled into the corner of the chair as far as he could burrow, hoping the upholstery would swallow him up. That privilege, however, was given to sleep. It was an uncomfortable, half-way sleep. It was dreamless and empty, as if he was floating through the void, only aware of his semi-consciousness when he stirred. Even so, anything was better than dreaming. 

 

    The next morning, Harry rose bright and early when the sun rose over the mountains, flooding the room with light . The snow on the ground outside shone with such a brilliance that Harry had to avert his eyes before peeling the layers of knit blankets off of him and padding towards the door to head back to his own dormitory. No sooner had he left the room than when he heard hard-heeled boots clacking rapidly as their owner sped toward him. Here was Draco Malfoy, dressed to the nines as usual, and here he was, in  pair of pajamas from sixth year with messier hair than usual. Malfoy's nose scrunched up, but he spoke anyway.

 

    "Fancy another walk, Potter?" Harry had been expecting that to be a one time thing. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to. He felt like they each had their own odd similarities, and there was something about those ice blue eyes.

 

    "Sure, but I" he cleared his throat, his voice still raspy from sleep. "I need to get dressed." Malfoy nodded as if he understood.

 

    "Well, you won't look much better, but suit yourself," he replied without hesitation and left. Harry stood alone in the corridor while his sleep addled brain made a weak attempt at processing everything. On mornings like these, the groggy, grey ones, Harry could almost feel his scar hurting again. Perhaps it was just the headache named Draco Malfoy.

 

    Despite the splitting headache and exhaustion, Harry still trudged up the winding staircases to the common room, and eventually found his way to his dormitory. He moved in an almost robotic fashion, pulling one sock on and then the other, buttoning one button after the other, in a dream-like haze. He was never really struck very hard by his dreams. Or rather, nightmares. If he was, he'd always been able to shake it. But last night, after picturing the fiendfyre again, he'd seen the same scene in his nightmare, only he was carrying out Malfoy's corpse. He didn't know why. He never did, really. But this particular sequence had struck a chord with him. Maybe he'd just seen too many people die, and couldn't stand the sight of another friend, er, person, lying lifeless and pasty, with glassy eyes and sallow skin.

 

    But now he was outside in the bitter December cold, plowing through the snow to get to Malfoy. This was all he had at the moment, with Ron and Hermione on holiday. These walks, and a budding friendship, as one might call it. 


	4. Warm Breath and Chilly Noses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that anyone really reads this anyway, but I just wanted to say that if it wasn't a slow burn before, it will certainly be one now. I promise I have a timeline planned out. This just helps me as a writer work on certain techniques and not hurl information at you as a reader. So, anyway, enjoy!

    To walk with Draco was to walk on bubble wrap in front of a sleeping dragon. Anything, even the slightest of misunderstandings, could set him off. Harry felt as if he was a sculptor, slowly chipping away at Malfoy's stone exterior to shape him into a more desirable friend. Harry was now sprawled out on his bed, winded from a walk and chilled to the bone. He often thought to ask Malfoy why they never walked inside, but he knew. Even the portraits called Draco out, slinging insults left and right and jeering at him from inside of their ornate frames.

 

    It was only a week out from Christmas at this point, and Harry had already sent a pair of school owls out for Ron and Hermione. A new set of quills for Hermione, and some Chudley Cannons tchotchkes for Ron. Harry thought about this as he lay out on his bed, and he began to think if he should buy Malfoy something. Perhaps not. 

 

They had been out together every day now, sometimes more than once. They strolled through the snow, blinded by the sunlight that glanced off of the thin sheet of ice that lay on it. The walks were, Harry would never admit, quite nice. However, Draco was still tense. He was closed off. Sullen, even. There wasn't much in the way of conversation topics, as nearly everything would make him clam up and slide further and further back into his shell. Harry learned, at this point, to just be careful. He had also learned, from what little was said on the matter, that Draco was incredibly lonely. Well, nobody had to ask, really. It was quite apparent. His father was locked away in Azkaban, and his mother, who was holed up somewhere, had to write to him sparingly and under the radar, so to speak.

 

Narcissa had taken a liking to Harry, even writing to him a few times here and there, though not nearly as much as she wrote Draco. How she managed to write so much from in hiding, Harry could never figure out. Of course, she only wrote to him because he had saved her beloved son. Anyone could see how much Draco was struggling with being so detached and distant from his mother. And, although he'd lost his own, Harry could not comprehend that feeling. Or anything they spoke of that even alluded to the war. In some ways, Harry often thought. Draco suffered more than anyone.

 

This is precisely why Harry kept up with the daily walks. As much as he despised Malfoy, he knew exactly how he was feeling, how vulnerable he was. Every single day Draco would approach and shyly ask for a walk. He was confident the first few times, but he grew to where he could hardly look Harry in the eye, as if he were a nuisance.

 

To be perfectly honest, he was an enormous nuisance. But Harry wasn't going to tell him that. That was a whole other can of flobberworms. Their morning walk was soon, and it had gotten to the point where Harry would begin meeting him by the lake every morning just after breakfast, though he was prone to "forgetting" their extra strolls throughout the day. Today, he made his way out into the cold December sunlight only to look upon a very odd sight. Where Draco typically stood, back straight, chin up, stood a meek and crumpled man. Mind, it was still Draco, but his demeanor was completely out of the ordinary as of late. He finally looked up from under platinum blond bangs when Harry reached him.

 

    "You alright, Malfoy?" A series of unintelligible mumbles followed. "Sorry, what?" Mumbles again. "Speak up, I can't hear you when you talk like that."

 

    "MUM WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS," he finally spat, loud and harsh, before he hung his head again, nearly wiped out by a wave of embarrassment. Harry was taken aback. He himself had written to Narcissa a few times, nothing really that important. He knew that Draco wrote to her every waking minute of the day, had Malfoy been writing about him as well?

 

    "Why's that?" Harry finally asked, bracing himself for a verbal slap in the face as curiosity got the better of him.

 

    "I may have written to her...about you...a few times..." he trailed off, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

 

    "She doesn't have to get me anything." Harry found this deeply amusing, and the red tinge creeping across Draco's porcelain cheeks was quite adorable.

 

    "Well, I w- SHE wants to. It's been constant. She's even threatened a Howler. A HOWLER. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be, Potter?"

 

    "More embarrassing than asking me, of all people, what I want from your mother for Christmas?" Harry knew he'd won the argument. Until Draco spoke again, that is.

 

    "I swear, she never does anything else. All she does is write to me and send me things. I don't even know where she gets half of the things she sends, to be honest. But I'm telling you, I've got piles and piles of letters and nothing to do with them. She just keeps on writing. Bet you'd die for a letter from your mum, wouldn't you? Too bad she's dead, but did I ever tell you how she..." Harry eventually tuned him out as Draco rambled on with a wistful and homesick look in his eye. 

 

    "Where's she writing from now, an alley somewhere? Can't be much she can afford with your father in prison and the fortune practically gone. Not to mention she probably couldn't get a job what with the whole, what was it, Death Eater thing, right?" Harry grew increasingly bothered. All Draco ever spoke of was his mother and insulted Harry's, whether he meant to or not. Harry would have fought the whole war, wandless and alone, just for five minutes with Lily.

 

    Draco's face screwed up, and Harry thought he'd won. That is, until Draco gripped his arm and swung him around, pushing until Harry's back was pressed up against the rough bark of a tree.

 

    "Don't you," Draco began, followed by a sharp intake of breath. " _Ever_ speak ill of my mother like that again. Not of my family, not of my lineage, not of any of it. Here I was, I thought you had changed, but a low blow such as that tells me otherwise." He had leaned in very close to Harry's face by this point. Harry's breath hitched, but Malfoy loosened his grip and turned on his heel, storming off towards the castle.

 

    Harry was left alone in the snow, wandering why something so small had set Malfoy off in such a way, even though Draco had always been melodramatic. Although it was about his mother, it hadn't been like any of the horrible things he'd said about Malfoy in the past. Not only was he confused about Draco's actions, but as to why Harry could still feel the fierceness of his gaze, the soft tickle of Draco's warm breath on his chilly nose, and Draco's hand gripping his arm and the tingling sensation that arrived following the hand's departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry. Sometimes I lose motivation to do anything and lay on my bed like a lump. Also, there WILL be a plot, I swear. Thank you :)


	5. Use My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, I'm actually posting! I'm so sorry. But, it's summer now, so you can expect more updates and probably some new stuff!

    Harry stood shivering underneath a colossal pine tree, feeling the warmth of Draco's hand and breath fade away as the cold seeped into his bones once again. The tall, lanky Slytherin was known to be overdramatic, but this time it felt off, like something really was bothering him. He seemed to be actually upset, rather than feigning it for attention, as was his signature move. It slowly dawned on Harry the reason Draco had been upset, but he knew not to go after him right now, as he was too volatile and likely to explode again. But this time, he would dissipate into ash and slip through the loose hold Harry had finally managed to put on him.

 

    He slipped back inside the castle and slunk through the winding corridors and to the kitchens. It had grown quite dark since he was left beneath the tree outside, and he'd missed dinner. Luckily, the house elves were kind and whipped up a sandwich for him, as well as a frothy glass of pumpkin juice. Once the last morsels of his sandwich had disappeared, he thanked the elves and retired to his room in Gryffindor Tower for some much needed sleep. He curled up on his side, not bothering to turn down the covers. Something was eating at him, he wasn't sure what the feeling in the pit of his stomach signified. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, he fell into a light, restless, sleep.

 

    This went on for two days. Harry hadn't seen Draco very much around the castle. But, when he had, no eye contact was made, no insults were fired. Nothing. It was like Draco didn't even know who Harry was. That is, until one fateful Tuesday morning, five days out from Christmas.

 

    The sun rose over Hogwarts, breaking through the thick fog of the night and painting the sky with swatches of the softest reds, yellows, and oranges, much like the delicate petals of flowers in spring. Harry had not been expecting such a beautiful morning, and he had also not expected seeing Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the common room in his pajamas and staring sheepishly at the carpet between his toes.

 

    "W-what are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, stuttering partly from the confusion of a Slytherin in Gryffindor tower, partly from just having woken up, and mostly from the odd feeling he had the night before returning with full force.

 

    "I, well, that's unimportant. Could I stay here for a few days? I'm," he paused, the distressed look on his face becoming even more so. "I'm sorry for losing it the other day. I just, I got so upset over practically nothing. Potter, your mother is dead, and I write to mine every _day_. I can't even imagine how you felt. I really am sorry." The two of them found themselves standing near each other now, instead of on opposite sides of the common room.

 

    Harry was in complete and utter shock, to put it lightly. Even if he was working in the Department of Mysteries, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of prophecies, there was no way in hell he would have seen this coming.

 

    "No, Malfoy, it's fine. It's okay, really. You've been saying things like this to me for almost eight years now. Do you really think I care much anymore?" Harry laughed a bit after he spoke, aiming to lighten the mood even a little bit. Draco looked at Harry, wide-eyed. The firelight hit the shadows on his face so they made him look thin, angular, and almost cadaverous. The worn young man's next words came as a whisper.

 

    "Do you think, maybe, we could be friends, Harry?" Draco whispered, voice breaking. His eyes glossed over, and a single crystalline tear slid down his cheek, slicing through and giving life to the ashen boy's face. Harry bit his tongue to hold himself back from anything idiotic he may have said at that moment. He had never, in all of his years, heard the name "Harry" leave the lips of Draco Malfoy. He had never called Draco by his first name either, come to think of it. But he hadn't time to think about that. Now, he was now faced with a decision he'd rather not make. He wanted to say no. He wanted to turn on his heel and run away. Every fiber of his being told him to leave Malfoy where he stood. But he did not, and told him yes.

 

    And that was the moment Draco Malfoy broke.

 

    The tears came flowing. The paper boy had ripped apart. The fortress he kept himself behind crumbled like a house of cards. Draco was drifting away from Harry right before his eyes, merely dust in the wind. He was brittle, and after being carelessly handled for far too long he had shattered. He had finally broken.

 

    Harry rushed forward to keep Malfoy from falling, and guided him over to the stairs, slowly taking him up to his dormitory. He sat the shaking boy on the bed before gingerly setting himself down next to him. Draco, in an uncharacteristic action, leaned into Harry's side. Harry instinctually wrapped an arm around Draco, and then another. The cool satin of Malfoy's pajamas contrasted greatly with the hot tears.

 

    "I've never had a real friend before. Crabbe and Goyle were just _there_. How can anyone possibly stand to look at me after what I've done? How can you, of all people, sit here, and-" He stopped, choking back a sob that would have been much like the other ones he'd let out. This was also the only thing Harry had tuned in to hear, as he'd been more focused on getting the tearful mess up the stairs. Harry pushed the other's hair back from his forehead, all the while screaming at himself,  _what are you doing? No! Stop! This is ridiculous!_

 

Still, Harry looked down at the trembling, sobbing shell of the Malfoy he once knew and tightened his arms. Oddly enough, he did not feel like he wanted to let go.

 

    "Yes, I think we could be friends, Draco."


	6. Come Back, Stay Here

    Draco Malfoy was asleep. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and Harry was sitting on his own bed, fully clothed, holding a sleeping, pajama-clad Draco. He hadn't eaten breakfast and would likely be unable to at this point. He snuck a glance down at Draco's face, though he knew the boy wouldn't be awake to see him. The boy, who had slid down into Harry's lap, appeared to have not slept in days. The bags under his eyes practically became holes, and his pallid face no more than a ghostly shadow in the dimly lit dormitory. Ribs sliced through the satin of Draco's shirt and into Harry's thigh, and a bony wrist dug into his kneecap. 

 

    Harry felt like rolling Draco onto the floor, never speaking to him after this. But, once again, his conscience got the better of him. He slowly, carefully, moved the other boy into an upright position until their shoulders pressed together. He shifted ever so slightly every few seconds so he could reach the ornate headboard. Luckily, the bedding was still drawn back, so he was able to cautiously set Draco down with his head on a pillow. As soon as head met pillow, something between a groan and a sigh of content could be heard, and then nothing.

 

    It was strange, Harry thought, as he tried to get up without moving the bed too much. He never thought he'd be in this position, or see Malfoy, er, Draco cry in any situation. For Draco so simply give up and fall apart in such a manner was absolutely unheard of. Harry decided to leave and shut the door behind him and made his way to the library where he would sit and write dozens upon dozens of letters to Ron and Hermione, only to scrap them. There was just no good place to begin, and he also hadn't a clue how to explain anything that was going on. He sighed and went to the quidditch section. He'd read every book in there several times over. In fact, most of the names scrawled in the front were his. 

 

    Despite the amount of times he had read them, he still became entirely engrossed and lost track of time. He'd been in the library for close to seven hours. Supper time was drawing near, and he would need to see if Draco had left yet.

 

    Draco had not left. He, in fact, had not moved a millimeter since Harry laid him down. His breathing was shallow and labored, and his forehead was burning up and glistening with a sheen of sweat when Harry nervously pressed a hand to it. Harry shook him lightly, rousing him from a deep slumber. Draco coughed violently, shooting upright and doubling over atop the bed. Harry, whose reflexes acted against his better judgement, flew forward to support the weak blond and sit him back against the pillows. Then, Draco gasped for air as he relaxed, his body becoming less of a rigid board and molding into the softness of the bedding. His head lolled to the side and he let out a feeble groan.

 

    "Draco?" Harry asked softly in case he had a headache. "When was the last time you slept?" It was a valid question, as Draco was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

 

    "Couple weeks?" He coughed again. "I'd nap and drink excessive amounts of Wideye potions. I didn't want to sleep." His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he tried, and failed, to lean upwards.

 

    "Why?" Harry pressed, though he knew it may be too much to ask. But, that was just how he was. He was feeling a sort of pull in his chest, like he was being physically drawn towards Draco.

 

    "I-" Draco exploded into yet another coughing fit, though this time, when his eyelids fell afterwards, they stayed shut. He did not stir and began that same shallow, labored breathing. Harry, who was quite famished by this point, decided to leave him there and go have some supper. When he returned later that night, Draco was still in is bed, and he wasn't going to share, so he used one of the empty ones on the other end of the room. 

 

    He figured Draco would be alright and back to his usual unbearable self, until he would not wake when Harry went to try and wake him yet again. He wouldn't move and sat like a rock in the bed, and he was entirely unresponsive. Panic began to rise in Harry, who was scolding himself for leaving him alone. Harry had listened to Draco say he wasn't sleeping, and he'd been in the Slytherin common room before. There was a draft, and it was damp, cold, and beneath the lake. That combination was enough to make anyone sick, especially when you added germy first years. This was most likely why Draco had snapped a few days ago, the boy was entirely exhausted. After sufficient amounts of shaking, Harry determined that he simply would not be able to get him up.

 

    Bloody hell, was the boy heavy. Harry leaned down and pulled Draco's arm around his shoulder, staggering under the sudden amount of weight as he pulled him out from under the covers. In a moment of brilliance, he threw his invisibility cloak over the two of them before they stepped out of the portrait hole. The third years were especially nosy this year. Now his only problem was the amount of stairs.

 

    Sweating, tired, and slightly bruised, Harry had eventually managed to drag an unconscious eighteen-year-old boy from Gryffindor Tower all the way to the hospital wing, and he was quite proud of himself. He slid the cloak off of them and pushed open Madame Pomfrey's door. She gave Harry a questioning look, but still bustled over reached out for Draco anyway. And, after Harry vehemently insisting that "it wasn't like that," she still pulled a chair up next to the now-occupied bed and told him to sit. So, unwilling to argue with the woman who had patched him up more times than the number of hairs on his head, he sat and waited. Whatever Poppy had dosed him with had worked, because in a few hours, Harry was staring into a pair of tired, baby blue eyes.

 

    "Harry?" Draco asked, voice hoarse and strained. Harry nodded and leaned back into the chair, not realizing that he'd had his elbows propped on the edge of the mattress.

 

    "I want a new quill, Draco."

 

    "What?"

 

    "You told me your mum wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas." Draco swatted at his arm.

 

    "That's no way to greet someone who has just been unconscious, Potter." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The unbearable Draco was back. "I-" He interrupted himself with a yawn. "I think I want to go back to sleep." Harry looked to Madame Pomfrey, who looked down her nose at Draco, silently telling him to rest.

 

    The only thing that Draco could do was to agree with her, so Harry bade him farewell and turned to leave. Then, he felt a set of long, slender, fingers wrap loosely around his wrist. Harry looked back over his shoulder and heard a singular word uttered in a barely audible whisper.

 

    "Stay."


	7. Spend the Night

    It came to be Christmas Eve, and Draco had finally regained his strength. Harry, for one, was glad to be away from the hospital wing, as well as Draco's bedside. He was also glad that their friendship had strengthened in the last few days, with each of them putting their differences beside them and learning loads of interesting information. Harry learned that Draco actually detested snakes, claiming that they "were all writhing muscles and no limbs." _What irony_ , Harry thought. Draco had also dropped the dramatic act, although he was still rather whiny and quite clingy.

 

    Draco gripped Harry's hand as the pulled himself up from the bench in the Great Hall after the Christmas Eve dinner. His joints were still aching, and Harry, being as he was, felt obligated to help him. They left the Great Hall together, with nearly everyone turning a blind eye to the budding friendship. They walked along together in comfortable silence. That is, until Harry blurted out something he would come to regret.

 

    "Stay in Gryffindor Tower tonight." Draco stopped in his tracks and whirled around the face Harry, and looked as if he'd been hit square in the face with an exceptionally powerful _immobulus_. 

 

    "I'm sorry, what was that?" He asked, his voice curious but tinged with hope, because he knew what he heard.

 

    "I said, stay the night in Gryffindor Tower. You'll just end up sick again, and you won't be around the peo- _place_ that causes your insomnia. Also, it's Christmas Eve, and you're my friend." Draco straightened his back and let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Harry felt something bloom in his chest, warm and expanding.

 

    "Alright, I suppose. For the night. How am I getting in?" Draco was surprisingly open to the idea.

 

    "My cloak. The Fat Lady still hasn't been able to figure it out." Harry gave a cocky, triumphant grin.

 

    "So you're saying you sneak people in often?" Draco retorted with a wicked smirk. Harry wasn't going to let him win a game they weren't even playing.

 

    "Sure," Harry snorted. "Just get your things and meet me back at the Great Hall, I'll have my cloak." With that, he headed off to tidy up his dormitory a bit. Everyone else had gone home for the holidays, but it still somehow looked as if they hadn't cleaned before, ever. Rightfully so, considering how fast mess would pile up with a room of five teenage boys. "Why am I doing this?" He muttered to himself as he shoved a pile of Seamus' socks under his bed. His bed was, admittedly, the cleanest area, but Draco would have to suck it up and sleep in Ron's.

 

    Harry eventually finished his tidying, gathered his cloak off of the floor (it had been rather hard to find), and took the stairs two at a time as he raced to the Great Hall. He'd never hear the end of it if he left Draco standing with an armful of personal effects at the front of the school. He rounded the last corner and skidded to a halt, and was met with Draco doing the same, sending the contents of Draco's hands clattering to the floor.

 

    "Potter," Draco began, though it was weak and underscored with laughter.

 

    "Malfoy," Harry clapped back, still helping round up the scattered items.

 

    "You're going to need to show me how to get there," Draco pointed out to Harry, who had simply started walking without him with his cloak in hand.

 

    "Er, yeah, sorry," Harry replied, draping the transparent folds of his father's cloak over Draco. "Just follow me, then. Stand in front of me when we get there, though. She closes up pretty fast nowadays." Harry could only assume Draco was nodding in agreement.

 

    After climbing and climbing staircase after staircase, Harry spoke the password and Draco slipped through just before him, and everything had gone smoothly. Draco made the smart decision and waited until he was behind the closed door of Harry's dormitory before slipping the cloak off, leaving well-groomed blond hair slightly tousled. His nose wrinkled.

 

    "Merlin, Potter, you actually live in here?" He asked, slowly turning in a circle to take in the less-than-neat room. Harry supposed he was right about the cleaning issue.

 

    "Yeah, well, when you haven't really got a home to go to you take what you can get." He was also right about regretting his decision to invite Draco to stay the night. To his dismay, Draco's face softened.

 

    "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to." He seemed satisfied with Harry's mumbled, barely discernable "it's fine," and started climbing into Ron's four poster. It had grown incredibly late. They two made good conversation until it could not carry on without the rude interjection of yawns. So, they nestled down deep their own respectable beds, and bade each other goodnight. That is, until the sound of Draco's voice broke the comfortable silence and pulled Harry from the arms of sleep. "Harry, we should take a walk tomorrow."

 

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very inconsistent, aren't I? By the way, this is a sort of build up chapter for the next one, which I am very excited about!


	8. Don't Get the Wrong Idea, It's Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally moving along now!

    Harry was staring at the woven canopy above his head when the thought struck him that it was Christmas Day, and that time had gotten away from him. He also very much wanted to curl up in front of a nice, warm fire. His dream was to be made reality, when a thought struck him for the second time in the few moments he'd been awake. He still had Draco to deal with. Draco, who was sitting in one of the armchairs twisting a neatly wrapped parcel in his hands. Draco gasped a little when he saw Harry, who had most likely startled him. Harry held up one finger and dashed up the stairs to get his gift for Draco. How he'd managed to get his hands on it without the nosy Slytherin finding out, it still amazed him.

 

    Sitting in the adjacent chair once he got back in the common room, Harry suddenly found the parcel Draco was fiddling with sitting in his hands. The box was small, yet long. It was black, rectangular, and tied up with a black satin ribbon.

 

    "For me?" Harry asked, just to be sure. Draco only scoffed.

 

    "Of course, you idiot, who else?" The words would have stung a few years ago, but Draco only smiled as he spoke. Harry loosened the ribbon.

 

    Inside the box were two handsome quills, exactly the kind Draco used. Harry had been expecting maybe one of the shabbier ones he tended to use when he brought up the idea. Narcissa must have caught wind of his stupid request in a letter. He'd even received a few from her as their friendship blossomed. Without Lucius, she was quite a lovely woman. Harry took a quill in his hand and ran it between his fingers. All he'd brought was a badly wrapped sack of candy.

 

    "I didn't know if you'd want ink or not, and I just told mother to buy the kind of quill I use. I don't know what kind you use, and I suppose I really should have gotten some ink, shouldn't I?" Draco was rambling, but Harry thanked him profusely until he calmed enough to sit back in the chair, rather than with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped.

 

    "Here's, well, this," Harry said, handing the large bag of sweets to Draco. He knew Draco's household had been very strict when he was growing up, so Harry couldn't imagine that he was able to eat many sweets. "It's not really that much." Nevertheless, Draco's eyes widened and gleamed, both from the fire and excitement. "You also never really told me what you wanted."

 

    "This is wonderful," Draco said eagerly, already unwrapping a chocolate frog. "Go get dressed, I want to go outside." Knowing Draco, he was already dressed to the nines. Harry, on the other hand was not. Smiling sheepishly, Harry went back upstairs and threw on whatever wasn't dirty and his new sweater from Mrs. Weasley, who really didn't have to send him one.

 

    After they snuck back out of the common room, the found themselves on the grounds. The snow, which had been becoming dirty, was replenished with a fresh blanket. They stuck to the paths, where the snow was somewhat less deep. 

 

    "So, uh, thanks again for my quills. I've been needing some new ones. I reckon my old ones were just about as good as anything you'd get off the floor of the owlery," there was breathy laughter between them after Harry spoke, both of their faces flushed from the winter chill.

 

    "You're welcome. Your old ones were quite shabby. Thank you again for my sweets. How did you even get that many?" Harry shrugged. Some he'd bought, some he'd recycled from his presents from Ron and Hermione. He'd already sent and exchanged gifts with them, and Ron's gift this year had been some things from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes accompanied with lots of sweets, as anything from him typically was. 

 

    "Why are we out here?" Draco asked, shivering.

 

    "This was your idea," Harry replied, shivering just as much.

 

    "True. We have been missing some, after all." Draco did not utter a word after that, so they simply walked and listened to the sounds of the forest next to them and snow underfoot. Their shoulders, then arms, then hands bumped as they strolled along, their footprints the only thing to mar the peaceful landscape, the only thing to imply that people had been there. Each little touch shot warmth through Harry's body. Then, Draco threaded his fingers through Harry's, engulfing Harry's hand in his own larger one.

 

    Harry turned his head to see Draco watching his feet, color standing high on his well-defined cheekbones. They began talking again soon after that, as Draco had apparently regained his composure. Harry was fine, he didn't think Draco had meant anything by it. He was most likely just cold. They spent close to two more hours outside, before they decided to call it a day and retreat to the warm indoors for the feast. Their hands remained clasped.

 

    "Um, goodnight Harry," Draco said after dinner. There was no need for him to collect his things, he'd only brought enough for one night. Harry humored the thought of inviting him for another night.

 

    "You could stay again, if you like." Draco pondered this, before offering a response.

 

    "I'd like that." They repeated their same routine. Except this time, rather than going straight for the dormitory and immediately to sleep, the resumed their posts in the common room from earlier that day, chatting the night away until the wee hours of the morning. Harry found that they'd been talking a _lot_ recently, perhaps because they had a lot to learn about each other after so many years of animosity. It was Draco who first cleared his throat, letting Harry know he'd zoned out and been staring directly at Draco for a considerable amount of time.

 

    "We should get to sleep," Harry suggested. Draco hummed, stating that he was going to stay awake for a bit longer. Harry only halfway hoped that Draco wouldn't get the wrong idea when he leaned down and brushed his lips against Draco's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, sleep comes up a lot, doesn't it? Oh well.


	9. Skate With Me

    Harry was swaddled in the comforting arms of a dream. He was soaring through sun-warmed clouds. He stopped by one of them, tentatively putting a hand out and letting the misty tendrils encircle his fingers. It kept going, engulfing him. It was warm. So, so warm. And hard. It was very hard, and angular, almost like an elbow to the side. Discomfort made Dream Harry writhe away from the pillowy white mass. His eyelids fluttered open, and he discovered the warmth had not been emanating from a cloud after all, but instead from Draco Malfoy. 

 

    Malfoy was tucked into Harry's side, leaving the other bed empty, rumpled, and cold. Harry jerked away, not used to such intimacy and not expecting this to happen. He instantly ceased panicking about Draco in his bed and started panicking about waking him up, because he was finally sleeping. He muttered a string of obscenities when he saw that he had, in fact, woken the sleeping Slytherin. Draco seemed to realize his predicament, as well, and promptly flew out of the bed, collapsing in a heap of tangled limbs and sheets.

 

    "I was cold- I couldn't sleep- I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-" Draco mumbled, straightening himself up. Harry just shook his head and untangled the other boy, smoothing his hair and satin pajamas. Harry didn’t mind. If that’s what his friend had to do to get even a fraction of the rest he so desperately needed, then so be it. In fact, he’d been looking infinitely better since he’d been staying with Harry. Less phantasmic and more like a tangible being.

 

    "Don't worry about it, okay? I know exactly how you feel, believe me." Harry spoke only the truth. The way Draco's eyes shone reminded Harry of times such as the Triwizard Tournament, and when the Chamber of Secrets opened, to name a few. Times when almost everyone had abandoned him. Truth be told, the warmth Draco radiated was more than pleasant, and Harry would be an outright liar if he said he didn't want it back. So Harry, being oblivious and ignorant to whatever he or Draco may be feeling, brought Draco down to the common room with him and sat him down on the sofa, a stolen bottle of firewhiskey between them.

 

    "Drinking? At this hour?" Draco snorted, but took the bottle anyway, already screwing off the top. He nudged Harry after he'd taken a swig. 

 

    Harry put the bottle to his lips, his throat burning as the liquid passed his dry lips and slid down his throat. He coughed a bit, and rested the bottle between them. Or on them, really. Harry hadn’t noticed he had shifted over so much. It was too early for drinking, so his brain was growing fuzzy. Although, he didn’t think he’d care about their position even if he was sober. He was coming to realize this was definitely not what friends did. The bottle was passed a few more times.

 

    “M’glad you’re my friend, Harry,” Draco said suddenly, a slight slur binding his words together. One of his elbows was on the arm of the couch, and the other was propped on Harry’s shoulder. He was absentmindedly fumbling around with the collar of Harry’s t-shirt. 

 

    “Er, thanks Draco,” Harry replied. He was focusing less on his whiskey-addled brain and more on the finger that would brush against his neck every now and then. He felt Draco straighten his back next to him.

 

    “You know what? We always walk. I wanna go ice skating this time. I'll be right back.” And with that, he was up and out of the portrait hole. All Harry could to was wait on him to come back with whatever it was that he had disappeared for.

 

    Draco returned holding two pairs of skates and looking winded, not having bothered to change his clothes, only donning the Weasley sweater (which Harry had written Molly for a day late, and was incredulous at how fast she sent it, along with a lovely letter and a sweater for him, in typical Molly fashion. The letter relieved him most, as he still didn’t feel quite welcome.) Harry hadn’t the foggiest where the skates came from, but dashed upstairs to slip on his new sweater and a pair of socks and shoes.

 

    The cold morning air bit at them once they were on the lake, but there was no force strong enough to make them give a damn. They were still tipsy, and their lazy circles crooked. The drifted around on the ice, drawing closer and closer together as they had on the sofa earlier that morning. Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and slid him across the ice, over to him.

 

    “What,” Harry asked, Draco’s hot breath making Harry’s numb nose tingle. He received no verbal answer, only Draco’s sharp intake of breath and his lips pressed to his. 

 

    It was by no means perfect, all teeth clashing and chapped, but it was theirs. It was their moment, and Harry savored it. This felt different than Ginny, different than Cho. This felt like he actually wanted it. The kiss became softer when Draco became more confident, but he was still tentative. And so was Harry. He did not want to lose what he had finally gained, even though he didn't realize that he wanted it until it caught him by the heart. But maybe, he thought, maybe this was the Firewhiskey. Maybe this was Draco’s clouded judgement. Harry assumed he was right, but kissed Draco deeper. 

 

    His fingers were intertwined in Draco’s hair, and Draco’s hand was on the back of his neck. If he could let himself have this, just this, it would be enough. And so Harry stepped closer, letting his eyes finally shut, just as carefully as he tread on the ice they were standing on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but they finally did it!


	10. Time Apart is Time I Don't Want to Spend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long. I'm so, so busy. I'm living in a state of perpetual exhaustion and there's only so much a girl can handle, so this is all I could churn out since the last chapter. Sometimes the ideas just won't come out, you know? But, the next chapter is going to be much longer, because things will REALLY start to pick up in the next few. Thanks for sticking with me and this fic!

    The kiss was clumsy, that was for sure. Their noses bumped and their teeth scraped, and they kept giggling when they came up for air, still tipsy from drinking earlier. Harry put a nervous hand to the back of Draco's neck, despite having one already wrapped in Draco's hair, and Draco reached up and held it there. It had been soft and sweet, until they both figured out that they didn't know what they were doing, because neither of them were girls. Harry felt a hand pressed into the small of his back, pulling the two bodies closer together.

 

    Harry placed both of his arms around Draco's neck, and Draco snaked both of his around Harry's waist. Hot blood pumped through his veins, and he could hear his heart drumming in his ears. Harry bit down on Draco's bottom lip, and reveled in the low, throaty moan that followed suit. But he pulled away. He pulled away not because he was hot- he could have stood in Draco's embrace for ages. No, he pulled away because he was afraid. Afraid of what came next.

 

    As if he wasn't already confused and reeling from the morning's events (and he was, by now, not drunk enough to blame anything on alcohol), the look Draco had painted across his face shattered Harry's heart into a thousand pieces. It was hurt, confused, guilty, shameful, and apologetic all at once. Harry immediately wished he could rush forward and take him into his arms again, bandage the wounds, kiss it better. But he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he was actually having second thoughts about Draco, or if he simply did not want to admit to himself that this is how things were likely to be between them. That this was something he would always get to do with Draco.

 

    Harry reached out for Draco, taking his hand. Perhaps it was the fact that they'd just kissed for the first time, but Draco was undeniably handsome. No longer gaunt and fragile, he was striking with his lustrous platinum hair and keen, pale eyes. Eyes met as they moved back to the shore, traded skates for boots, and walked back to the castle, as was customary. But this time, their hands were clasped and not letting go.

 

* * *

 

    The next two weeks were relatively uneventful since they had held each other on the ice underneath the gleaming winter sun. They didn’t talk about it, and the time only consisted of the occasional linked pinkies and lingering touches. School was to begin the very next day, and they couldn’t have people knowing something they didn’t even want to admit to themselves.

 

    They'd brush hands every time they passed in the corridors. When together, one was always touching the other, be it a hand on the knee or two arms pressed together. Nothing more. No more tender embraces. No more walks hand in hand, just walking a few feet apart. And absolutely no more kissing. They were not a couple. In fact, Harry denied this so vehemently that one would think they were still bickering first years.

 

    Draco had since moved back into the Slytherin dormitory, all signs of him gone from Harry's living space. No other bed rumpled then freshly made, crisp white shirts draped over the backs of chairs, or emerald green ties mixed into his laundry. A sliver of Harry wanted those things back terribly. A stupid, wishful, unrealistic part of him yearned for the time Draco had slipped between his sheets, and the time they'd spent on the ice, so close one could not tell where one person ended and the other began.

 

    So now, he sat on the edge of his bed, gazing wistfully out over the snow covered grounds. He just wanted the day to pass. He just wanted his friends to come back so he could take his mind off of this mess he was in. So he could take his mind off of Draco. 

 

    Draco. Harry knew that he probably wasn't thinking of him. But he could be. Harry certainly hoped so.


	11. Returning to Normal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey I'm back! Admittedly, I was not intending on being away for this long, but here we are. Sorry for being gone so long but here's another chapter! Enjoy!

    "Harry!" Ron exclaimed, barging into the common room. Suddenly, Harry was being hugged so fiercely by his best friend that he could scarcely breathe. "We missed you, why didn't you come?" A weight of off Harry's chest was lifted.

 

    "I- I don't know. I didn't really feel welcome, I guess?" Ron snorted.

   

    "What a load of crap. Mum made the biggest fuss about you not being there." Another weight, gone. "She did mention that she was gonna send you a sweater. You and someone else, I think. The owl get here okay?" Harry nodded, moving over to Hermione who pulled him into an embrace.

 

    "How have you been?" She asked, before added, "We missed you terribly. Oh, and have you read the books I left you?" She gave him a pointed look, but he still lied through his teeth.

 

    "Er, yeah, Hermione. They were great." Ron snorted from behind them, obviously finding Harry's blatant fib hilarious. "So, are you all hungry?" Ron was out of the room and heading towards the Great Hall before Harry could even blink.

* * *

 

    The three of them sat in their usual spot, chattering away like they were first years again. Harry felt at peace. He felt, even just for a split second, that everything was fine and he needn't worry about what came next in any sense. He was just reaching for another drumstick when Ron piped up.

 

    "Don't look now, but Malfoy's been staring at you since we got in here. Did something happen?" Ron was right- lots of things had happened. There were things that sent Harry soaring, and things that sent him crashing back down again. However, none of them were desirable topics of conversation at the moment. His best friend quirked a ginger brow, but shrugged when Harry shook his head, going back to devouring his meal.

 

    Truth be told, Harry was glad that Draco was staring at him. He didn't want to go on with simply lingering glances and the fleeting brushing of hands. No, he wanted more, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to touch him, kiss him, hold him. The very thought of it made Harry's hair stand on end, and he loved to indulge in those delicious thoughts. These fantasies were his own guilty pleasure. Harry suddenly realized he had been staring in the direction of said fantasy, who quickly returned his attention to the food in front of him.

 

    "Are you alright?" Came Hermione's voice, laced with concern. She would be the one Harry would need to be the most careful with, with her quick wit and brilliant mind. He could never clue her in on what he felt or the holiday's... events.

 

    "Yeah, I'm fine. Still getting used to having people back around, I guess." Not a total lie. He'd most certainly had someone around for the entirety of the holiday and then some, but- but he could hardly focus when Draco was looking at him like that.

 

    Draco's eyes held a kind of yearning and denial, glinting in the candlelight. His face was sad, but also wary, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed back into Harry's life. Like maybe the moments they had shared were a one time thing. Then, sending Harry's heart aflutter, Draco cracked a small, corner-of-the-mouth-raised smile. Miniscule at best, but a smile nonetheless. And then he left. It was for the better, in Harry's opinion. They hadn't said if they had feelings for one another yet, but Harry was going to great lengths to suppress his that were threatening to emerge again.

 

    "Hey," Hermione said, nudging his arm. "Go on upstairs, we'll meet you there. You're not looking too great." Harry thanked her and didn't even make it halfway to the tower when someone grabbed his wrist and snatched him into an empty classroom.


	12. Better Than Nothing At All

    A door slammed shut and locked behind Harry, who was released from the grasp of pale, slender fingers. Draco stood across from him, steeped in moonlight from the beam shining through a skinny window. "Um, hello?" Harry said, anxious to break the mood. Suddenly, Draco rushed forward and Harry's back was on the wall. They were but a hair's breadth apart, breathing each other's air and seeing only one another's eyes. Draco began to look as though he had not thought this far ahead after one hand found the side of Harry's face and the other pushed Harry's wrist into the wall. 

 

    A pregnant pause. A hitching of breath. A crashing of lips as Draco smashed his onto Harry's, not at all awkward and soft like before, though still retaining the general shyness. Harry grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair, and his other hand was scraping against the stone at his back. He had a brief flashback of one of their earlier walks. A fleeting memory, but poignant nonetheless. It was when Draco, in a moment of melodrama, had shoved Harry into one of the enormous trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He didn't feel like dealing with that again, and promptly flipped Draco around, pushing perhaps a bit too hard, but succeeding in his mission.

 

    Draco threw his head back and gasped when Harry's lips ended up just below his ear, then down his neck, then- no. Not here, not now, and not without consequences. Draco used the brief moment Harry had faltered to do his own damage in a very similar manner. He put his lips back to Harry's, who was admittedly quite good at this. He'd never really done this before, and went in with little experience hoping that Harry knew what he was doing, and Merlin, did he. 

\----

    Draco was hoping to use this encounter to prove a point. To show Harry that he shouldn't have just left him alone, shouldn't have teased him so much with those lingering glances and too-long touches on the arm. He didn't mean to feel like this, he didn't mean to feel like his heart was taking off like the Snitch at the beginning of a match, and like his stomach was going right along with it. He hated the weak knees and hot cheeks he started to get a few days ago when Harry would so much as walk by. He didn't feel this that day on the ice. Not to this extent, anyway. He hardly felt anything aside from liquor and numbness from the cold, but he'd be damned if he didn't think about it every day. And now, his feelings were erupting at the most inopportune time.

\----

    Harry, as he was usually told, hadn't a clue what was going on. He knew nothing except for the fact that this felt good, and that all of Draco's staring and brushing fingers had begun to make sense. He, the dense fool that he was, refused to acknowledge this. He was going to seal it in a box in the back of his mind, and forget about it. This would be a one time thing. Draco had no feelings for him. Draco would never want this from him. He was probably just the victim of a cruel joke, or an I-told-you-so ploy. He played it down to Draco being bored.

 

    Nevertheless, Harry slipped his finger's into Draco's belt loops and pulled him closer. He removed his hands and tugged at the collar, the tie, the prim and proper exterior. Draco squirmed against the wall and loosened Harry's tie in return. However, Harry slowed a bit, breathing heavily and dropping his hands. He stepped away from Draco who, to Harry's amusement, looked downright disappointed.

 

    "I think we should stop," he said, his voice husky. Harry cleared his throat and stared awkwardly at his shoes. Draco made a noise that sounded like an agreement.

 

    "I think you're right."

 

    "Sorry, Draco, but I need time." 

 

    Draco nodded. "I should be apologizing. I'm the one who yanked you into this room in the first place." Harry smirked.

 

    "Yeah, but I'm not mad about it, am I?" Draco flushed crimson and gave Harry a crooked smile. 

 

    "Apparently not." Harry was about to make for the door, which had mercifully been locked, but the look on Draco's face made him redirect his steps. 

 

    "Are you alright?" Harry inquired. The swirling cloud of emotions between the two was practically tangible. 

 

    "I think so." He drew in a deep breath. "Tell me, Harry, do we- do we have anything?" He was wringing his hands and chewing on his bottom lip.

 

    Harry furrowed his brow. He, in all honestly, hadn't the foggiest. Did he want to miss out on this? No. Was there something there? Maybe. Did he want it? Oh, absolutely. There wasn't a damn thing standing in his way right now, except for himself. He confessed to himself that he was petrified of commitment amongst other things, the opinions of others, and the aftermath of whatever came next. He racked his brain for the precise words to say, ones that would convey his exact message to Draco.

 

    "We could," he said eventually. Draco shot him a single confused glance- keep talking. "There's something there, Draco. I don't know what it is yet, but there's something there." The pair had, during the conversation, come together can clasped both hands. Harry might've, if he were braver, pressed his forehead to Draco's. But, there were still words to be said.

 

    "We could take it slow," Draco suggested. Why hadn't Harry thought of that? He certainly liked that idea. Harry pulled away and headed to the door a second time, this time around making sure he went through it. His hand slid the deadbolt.

 

    "I think I'd like that. It's better than nothing at all." Draco pressed his lips into a thin line but made no effort to maintain Harry's attention. Harry, however, heard his murmured echo as he exited into the corridor.

 

    "Better than nothing at all."


	13. Not A Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that's a lot of kudos. Thank you all so much!

    “I’ll tell you, Harry,” Ron said from his place in front of Harry. “Flitwick doesn’t go easy on the homework, and it's only been a week since we've come back.” They were in the library trying to finish their charms homework. Hermione, of course, was finished and had her face buried in an especially large tome. She pulled her nose out of the pages to chide her friends.

  

    “You boys really don’t try, do you? It’s terribly easy.” Ron scoffed and flung his quill down, spraying ink everywhere, much to his friend's chagrin.

 

    “Yeah, for you.” Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to poring over the meticulously printed words in front of her.

 

    Harry was distracted. He was distracted by the platinum head that flitted past the library door once, twice, three times. He stood up awkwardly and cleared his throat. "I'll be right back. I have to... use the bathroom." He pushed his chair back, nearly knocked over his inkwell, and tripped over the table leg. He winced and hobbled over to the door, foot throbbing.

 

    "What do you want?" Harry hissed, ducking around the corner after Draco, who had been lurking outside the door. Draco scratched the back of his neck, staring anywhere but into Harry's eyes. He appeared less put together than usual. He wasn't wearing his expensive robes, and his hair wasn't combed. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, the tie was loose, and a crisp white shirt tail peeked out from underneath the charcoal sweater. Draco cleared his throat.

 

    "I, well. Funny story, Potter, I was walking past the library and I saw you in there and I-"

 

    "That's a lie and you know it." Harry's cheeks heated, he was getting butterflies, and his stomach dropped. But he knew he was right.

 

    He wanted to be wrong. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. More like Harry Potter, the Boy With Commitment Issues. He shoved his hands into the depths of his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Suddenly, despite them being directly outside of the library, everything seemed to go silent. Every sound reverberated off of the stone floor, it seemed. Harry anxiously awaited the answer he was sure that he knew.

 

    "Alright, fine, I wanted to see you." Draco shifted from foot to foot, obviously wishing he'd just kept walking and didn't get himself into this mess. Harry, on the contrary, was having quite the difficult time maintaining a poker face. The butterflies swarming the pit of his stomach were growing frantic. "That's-" Draco took a steadying breath. "That's really it." It didn't appear that way to Harry, who peered at the other boy over the round tops of his glasses. "Okay. Fine. I was thinking about when we were in that empty classroom last week, happy?" Harry shattered his neutral expression  and broke into a downright devious grin.

 

    "Oh, yeah. I definitely remember. But I have to ask, there's no real reason from this, is there? You know we can't, you know, be together or anything like that." A deep sigh from Draco. He spoke, barely louder than a whisper.

 

    "But I want to." 

 

    Harry's eyes widened and he was at his wit's end. Merlin, he wanted it too. He flung his arms up in exasperation. "Be my boyfriend, then, I don't know." The smile that lit up Draco's face was all Harry needed to confirm his decision. Harry was laughing as he pointed his finger at Draco and said, "Not a word." Draco uncharacteristically wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

 

    "This is the happiest I've been in a long time," He mumbled into Harry's ear. And with that, he sauntered off and rounded the corner, leaving Harry to his business, and also to wonder what he'd just gotten himself into. Harry headed back to his table and ignored questioning looks from his friends. The load taken off his back had been replaced with a new, albeit more enjoyable, one. Charms could wait, because he was charmed by one Draco Malfoy.


	14. Perhaps in Time

    February had come and gone without difficulty. Harry and Draco discreetly exchanged Valentine's gifts, and kept their secret well protected. March had arrived and the bitter chill had dissipated from the grounds, which were now home tot he student's usual leisure activities. Harry heard a knock on his dormitory door. Impossibly light, as if it was a whisper meant for one person. Harry crept over to the door and slowly cracked it open. It was past noon, but leave it to his roommates to still be asleep. He was delighted to see Draco standing on the other side. "How did you get in here?"

    "The Fat Lady is used to it now," was the only response given. Sure, the portrait was nosy and a bit of a gossip, but she was also respectful and let people do what they wanted. Harry shrugged in response and pecked Draco on the nose.

 

   "What do you want?" He asked.

 

    "It's been a while since we've been on a walk, has it not?" Draco said, taking Harry by the hand to pull him fully out onto the stairs.

 

    "I suppose it has," he remarked as he followed his boyfriend down the steps, and eventually outside. He'd already gotten dressed, seeing as there wasn't much else to do besides watch everyone sleep. Glossy, green blades of grass were now shooting up from beneath an ever-thinning layer of persistent snow. Flowers were blooming, trees were budding, and grey clouds had gone and opened up a dazzling cerulean sky for the new couple to walk beneath. 

 

    They milled about the manicured grounds, just far enough apart so as not to raise suspicions. Once, they saw Hermione and Ron, who must have gotten up, go by. They ducked behind a column and dissolved into a fit of giggles quite like a pair of young girls. They'd started a cat and mouse game only they knew they were playing. Things had gotten rather heated in the Restricted Section this past Valentine's Day, but before they could go any further they were nearly caught by Neville, who'd come for a bit of late-night herbology reading. Another time they'd been linked by the pinkies when Dean and Seamus bounded up behind them and draped their arms over Harry's shoulder to take him who-knows-where. Sure, it was amusing, but also stressful in the "Keep This Hidden" department.

 

    They immediately grasped for one another's hands each time they came to the back of the castle. It was silly, but Harry felt a rush and a feeling he'd never experienced with Ginny or Cho. He could tell, somehow, that Draco felt the same way. His eyes were bright and his cheeks rosy, and he did not look peaky in the slightest. "Are we ever going to tell anyone?" Harry asked.

 

    Draco was pensive. HIs pace slowed and he stared at some indiscernible in the distance. "In time, maybe. Though someone may find us first if we're not careful." He was chuckling, however. The attitude was nonchalant, but the words sincere. His face was placid and painted with a faint smile. That is, until Harry slipped his hand into the back pocket of Draco's trousers. A sharp intake of breath and a swat to the arm was all Harry received by way of a punishment.

 

    They split up that night for supper, and sat with their backs to each other lest they be subject to tension-filled gazes and wandering eyes. Though maybe this wasn't the most logical decision, as Harry had nothing to do other than listen to Hermione prattle on about exams. Ron kissed her cheek to calm her down.

 

    "Look, 'Mione, they're not for a couple of months. Harry's distracted all the time, so why can't you be? Just relax, even for a day." Hermione groaned.

 

    "I can't relax, Ronald. Besides, I've seen the look on Harry's face before. That's not distraction. You've given me the same look, and we're together, aren't we? I think," she said, lips pursed and expression smug, "That Harry's got a girlfriend he won't tell us about." Harry vigorously shook his head. On a technicality, the frighteningly bright witch was wrong.

 

    "Nope," Harry replied with a shrug. "I have my future  _after_ the exams to worry about, not the actual tests, so my mind's gone elsewhere." Thankfully, she appeared to buy it. Ron piped up this time.

 

    "What's all the green stuff in your laundry, then? Is she a Slytherin girl? Is that why the extra sweater mum sent was green? Didn't get the letter on it, though." Harry's heart leapt to his throat. Draco hadn't stayed over, but Harry had been to his virtually empty Slytherin dormitory once or twice. He was hoping the elves were just confused or mixed it up and hadn't caught on and begun heaping Harry and Draco's clothes together.

 

    Harry brushed it off. "The elves probably just mixed some things up, is all. The extra sweater was for... me." He said the last part like a question. "I've... been outside a lot, lately. Just, you know, walking around."


	15. Yes, That's Her Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the time skips- I promise they're for a reason. I have plans for this. Anyway, Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

    April. A few more months, and they would be able to get out of Hogwarts, not hide (for the most part) and maybe even get a place together. Draco had mentioned it in an offhand comment the other day, so nonchalantly and yet so pointed that Harry's head had begun to spin. Of course he'd said yes, partially dazed. However, they were still at Hogwarts. In separate houses. In seperate parts of the castle.

 

    There was still a chill, despite the grass becoming greener and the sun attempting to break through the watery grey clouds. All the more excuse for Draco to wear the sweater he'd gotten for Christmas, Harry mused. He thought it was hilarious- at first he couldn't stand the Weasleys, and now he wouldn't take the sweater off. He'd wear a hole in it at this rate. Harry knew, however, that it was because he was trying to change, and someone had gone incredibly out of their way with a kind gesture for him. This made Harry grip Draco's hand tighter as they walked their usual path. Only this time, they paused for a bit of snogging on the wall, just out of sight of anyone else.

 

    Things were getting heated, when suddenly, Harry heard his own name cried with a tone of confusion and surprise.

 

    "Harry!" He tore himself away from Draco and whipped around to see Ron gaping in front of them. Harry's knees threatened to buckle.

 

    "Ron! I, er-" He tugged at the collar of his shirt. "What are you doing here?"

 

    "What are _you_ doing here? I was taking a shortcut to the greenhouses, and then I see this! Hang on," he squinted his eyes, but purely from disbelief. He could very clearly see what was in front of him. "Is that the sweater mum made?" Draco looked like he wanted to melt into the wall. His vise-like grip on Harry's wrist confirmed his suspicions. Harry felt queasy and ran a clammy, jittering hand through his hair.

 

    "I was taking a walk. With Draco. It's not what it looks like. Yes, that's her sweater." Ron nearly choked. He stumbled back a few steps and flung his arms into the air.

 

    "Oh, I think it's e _xactly_ what it looks like! What's gotten into you?" Harry shot Draco a pleading glance that hopefully conveyed the message to go back inside. It seemed to be well-received, because Draco was up and out in an instant. Then, he beckoned Ron over to him. They slid down the wall and took a seat in damp grass, cringing when they realized it probably wasn't the greatest idea.

 

    "So, um, don't tell Hermione yet, please?" Another, slightly different look of confusion crossed Ron's face. "We've been together since about Christmas." The confused expression morphed into one of skepticism.

 

    "No, really?" Harry nodded slowly. Understanding flashed in Ron's eyes. He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I won't tell a soul, not until you're ready. Can't guarantee Hermione won't find out. She's clever, that one. But," he flashed him a grin. "Your secret's safe with me." The stone of unease that sat low in his stomach shrunk considerably. Harry fell into step beside his best friend as they made for the indoors. To his dismay, he found himself to be quite amused by the occasional, muttered "blimey" from Ron every so often. But then, of course, Ron had questions.

 

    Yes, really Draco. Yes, that's why he'd been excusing himself from situations. Yes, again, that was who the sweater was for. No, nothing happened before the holidays. Yes, Ron, really Draco. No, this isn't some passing fling. Well, Harry hoped the last one was true. Despite himself, he had just an inkling of a doubtful thought deep in the recesses of his mind. Today had already been stressful and exhausting and it was only... Harry glanced at the clock they'd just passed. Eleven in the morning. He sighed and rubbed his temples. This was all giving him a splitting headache. On the bright side, in a moment of sheer brilliance, Ron had immediately changed the subject of their conversations as soon as they were within earshot of people.

 

    Harry only halfway listened. Fortunately, it was a conversation he could easily follow along with, because he wasn't listening. Not in the slightest. He only tremendously hoped that Ron could keep a secret. He would deal with teasing- that was inevitable. It was all in good fun with Ron, anyhow. He didn't mind if Hermione knew because she was veritably good at keeping secrets. He just didn't feel, well, ready. Hermione was one of his dearest friends, and probably one of the best people to let in on it. However, he still wasn't ready to deal with all of it, and he hated himself for it. This is what he had been afraid of that night in the abandoned classroom, he realized. The "what comes after."

 

    He focused again and realized that he and Ron had come to a stop at a favorite spot of theirs, just in front of the History of Magic classroom, to heckle first years. This had become a favorite pastime of theirs. Soon, the first years were spilling out of Binns' classroom with glazed-over eyes and stiff movements. Harry and Ron got to laughing, teasing, and being told off with a smile by McGonagall. The war was over, and he could be as close to any old student as he could get. Studying with his friends, staying up late, having relationship troubles. He always had something to worry about, didn't he?

 

    It was unbeknownst to Harry where Draco had gone, at this point. Perhaps that was for the better. Maybe he could be properly, politely introduced to Ron. Then, lo and behold, Harry spotted Draco weaving his way against the flow of the younger students. He gave Harry a wink, and even offered a small wave to Ron, who slowly returned it, mouth agape once again. Warm happiness coursed through Harry's veins. Maybe the "what comes after" wasn't so bad.


	16. A Place for Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter. Thanks for reading!

    Miraculously, Ron had mastered the art of convincing Hermione of something that wasn't true. Normally, it would be called lying, but it was certainly different with Hermione. She was now miraculously convinced that Harry was spending the night in the fresh air in the Astronomy Tower. In actuality, he was in Draco's dormitory.

 

    "I've never been in here before," Harry said as he took in the dimly lit room. He took up a spot at the foot of Draco's bed.

 

    "I don't see why you would ever need to be, up until now." Them he added, "But I certainly hope you'll see it more often." Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Draco finished up putting on his pajamas and crawled onto the bed. Harry moved next to Draco, and it dawned on him that they hadn't had any genuine time alone together since that awkward meeting in the empty classroom. "But I'm still glad you're here." Draco's hand was on Harry, fingertips grazing the length of his arm. His pupils were as large as saucers and his breathing was uneven. Harry took this as a signal to lean forward and close the space between them. 

 

    There was a soup of thought swirling in Harry's mind- ones that said this was nice, ones that were doubting, ones that were wondering what Draco wanted, and ones that were still, somehow, despite all attempts at getting rid of them, debating if he had made the right decisions. The first and foremost thought, however, was entirely mutual between the two of them- their current activity. Harry felt chilly fingers snake their way up under his pajama shirt, and he reciprocated, going a step further. He fumbled with the buttons on Draco's lavish silk pajamas until Draco's own deft fingers left their posts and came to help him, leaving Harry almost disappointed. He didn't have time to think when he felt the fabric of his own shirt being tugged over his head, forcing them to part for a split second.

 

    Draco pulled Harry down with him into the mattress. He was greedily, hungrily grasping at him, touching wherever he could reach. Draco's hips searched wildly for any form of friction but found none. Harry knew what Draco wanted, he certainly wouldn't object to it. But not yet. Not when he was seeing just how deep of a purple bruise would bloom on Draco's ivory neck when he was done with him. 

 

    Draco moaned, soft and low- utter music to Harry's ears. He did himself the favor of lowering himself to where he was lying right on top of Draco, so his hands could roam anywhere. Well, at least within the unspoken boundaries. Harry swept his tongue over the tiniest sliver of Draco's bottom lip, testing those boundaries. Draco eagerly gave Harry permission and granted him entry, where they explored each other's mouths, trying desperately to remember every crevice as if they should never see one another ever again.

 

   Ten minutes or so later, though it had felt like hours, Harry glanced down during a reluctant trip up for air and found Draco's fingers tugging at his waistband, a wordless plea. Harry forced himself not to go back in for another kiss and sat back, still straddling his boyfriend. "Are you sure you want this?" He said, short of breath and voice breaking. Draco pulled his hands back.

 

    "I- No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." He began to try and get up, so Harry pushed himself up and returned to his spot from earlier on the other side of Draco.

 

    "It's funny, I think," Harry started. Draco gave him a quizzical look. "The last time we were in a situation like this was that dusty old classroom. We've come pretty far, and we're still backing out," he finished with a laugh. Draco could not help but laugh too, agreeing wholeheartedly.

 

    "No, you're definitely right," Draco said. "But I," he paused, as if searching for the most precise words possible. "I'm sorry." His smile was now fading as he started to apologize again. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have even _insinuated_ that in the first place." Harry slung an arm over his bare shoulders. They hadn't even bothered to look for their shirts, which where cast aside without care in the heat of the moment.

 

    "You have no reason to apologize, alright? I only want what's best for you." This was true. Harry knew Draco was still hurting. Not from a relationship standpoint, but certainly from an emotional one. With everything from his parents to mending relationships with his peers to proving to everyone that he was never truly what they thought him to be, he had a lot on his shoulders, and it was a painful burden to carry. Draco nestled into Harry's protective, gentle embrace.

 

    "I want to save that. I want to save it for when we get our own place. A place for us, somewhere in London, a magical home all our own." Harry felt Draco shake his head, platinum hair tickling his chest. "It sounds silly, I know. And it may be too soon, but... I want a place for us." Harry placed a soft kiss on the crown of Draco's head.

 

    "I would love that." And with not another word, they slept.

* * *

 

    The next morning, Harry and Draco made the brave decision of leaving the dungeons and making their way to breakfast together. At a respectable distance, of course. They split as soon as they hit the doors to the Great Hall, and no sooner had Harry arrived than Hermione was on his case.

 

    "You weren't in the Astronomy Tower last night. Where were you?" She pestered, leaning halfway across the table and peering into his tired eyes. Harry didn't have time to stammer out an "I don't know" before Ron jumped into the conversation.

 

    "Wow, 'Mione, way to be subtle about it. How'd you even know, anyway?" He flashed Harry an apologetic glance before returning his attention to his girlfriend.

 

    "I checked," Hermione said smugly. "I went up and looked, and you weren't there. And then, I saw you come in here with Draco Malfoy, looking like you were forced to stand apart." She was stifling a giggle. Harry didn't notice the smirk playing on her lips or Ron trying to get his attention, because he had met Draco's gaze across the Hall. When he returned to the conversation, he saw an absolutely horrifying sight.

    

    Hermione had gotten that glimmer in her eyes. The one that meant she'd learned something new. This was quickly followed by the "gasp” that signified her understanding of a new topic. She narrowed those keen, brown eyes and moved her finger from Harry, to Draco, then back to Harry. "Are you two an item?" Silence. A playful, yet devious all the same, grin overtook her face. "You are, aren't you?"

 

    Ron immediately threw his hands up in defense. "I never said anything!" He exclaimed. Clearly, he hadn't. Harry had no right to be upset with him. "But I mean, he is wearing a scarf wrapped all the way around his neck while he's inside, sort of like he's hiding something." Harry flushed red and gave Ron a sheepish look, which was followed by laughter from the trio shortly after. "Also, um, now that Hermione knows, I wanted to let you know that you're welcome at my place anytime. Never thought I'd let Draco Malfoy into my house, but here we are."

 

    "Ronald!" Exclaimed Hermione. She looked over to Harry. "Harry, it's fine. Really. I won't say anything until the two of you are ready, but we would love to see you two over the summer."

 

    Harry sighed, then smiled. He supposed it was accomplishment to make it this long without a slip up. To be honest, he was incredibly glad to have friends like these. A few more months, he reminded himself. It was already April. Just a little bit longer. 


End file.
